In the middle of my living room, on the table, there was a large stack of banknotes, neatly arranged in bundles, along with some official documents. Next to them, an old carved wooden box that I had inherited from my parents.
Ana was frozen. She knew how much I cherished that box and, more importantly, she knew that she had never seen that money before.
“Mom… what are you doing with all this money?” she asked with a trembling voice.
“I’m preparing it for something important,” I said calmly, but with a firm look. “I have decided to donate a large part of my savings to a foundation that helps lonely elderly people. The rest I will use to make my life as beautiful and peaceful as possible here at home.”
Her face changed immediately. From an attitude of superiority, she shifted to one of panic. “What do you mean you’re giving it away? It’s your money! It should stay in the family!”
I smiled bitterly. “Family is not just blood. Family is who stands by you, who respects and loves you without expecting anything in return. I have been a mother to you all your life, but when I needed you, you only saw me as a burden.”
I took out some old photographs from the wooden box, of me, her father, and her when she was little. “Look, Ana… here you are, sick with measles. I stayed up nights by your bedside. Here you are at school, with new clothes bought with the last money I had. And here you are at college, with your first expensive bag… all of this from my hard work.”
Tears were streaming down her cheeks. “Mom, I didn’t mean to hurt you… I just…”
“Just what? Just wanted to send me away so you could keep my money?” I asked, without raising my voice, but with a heavy silence between the words.
She slumped into a chair, her head down. “I was wrong… I thought of myself, not you.”
Then I stood up and placed my hand on her shoulder. “Money comes and goes, Ana. But respect and love remain. I am still here. I still need my daughter, not someone who calculates my wealth.”
I gathered all the money and put it back in the drawer. “If you want to come to me, let it be because you care, not because you want something from me.”
She left that evening without saying much. But the next morning, when I went out to water the flowers, I found a bag of warm pastries on the bench and a note: “I love you, Mom. Let’s start over.”
Perhaps sometimes the greatest lesson is not to punish, but to show what dignity means. And I, at 90 years old, still have the power to do so.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher do not assume responsibility for the accuracy of events or for how characters are portrayed and are not liable for any misinterpretations. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed belong to the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
